Mother's Day

 

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. It’s a complicated day for many women: 

 • For those who wish to be mothers 

• For those who never had a mother 

• For those whose mother caused trauma 

• For those who have lost mothers 

• For mothers who have lost children, including babies in pregnancy 

I know there are other scenarios, which I have not touched on. That’s not deliberate. 

I used to be okay with the day when both of my kids were alive and I hadn’t yet recognized the complicated and traumatic relationship I had (still have) with my own mother. Now the day pretty much sucks. Sure, my 18-year-old made pancakes for me and gave me a beautiful card. I spent time with him, which is precious. But that’s true on any given day. 

Honestly, I think the day is overhyped; meant to carve society (i.e., women) into its perception of what we should look like when, the reality is, most of us don’t have normal mothering situations. Let’s be honest here. 

There are many women who have miscarriages and stillbirths—who are expected to recover quickly from them and move on. There are others whose mothers are not the picture-perfect image of what a mom should be—the ones who put themselves first, who traumatize their daughters and sons, who are dismissive and emotionally stunted. There are kids and adults who have lost their parents for a great many reasons—who don’t have someone to love and protect them. 

I wish Mother’s Day didn’t exist. I don’t need a designated day of the year to tell me whether I’ve been a good mom or not. I loathe the commercialized prettiness of this so-called holiday where people pose for photos with their living children. They’re all smiling outwardly and posting thoughts about how amazing their life is. I don’t want to see this shit. So I pretty much stayed off social media and laid low for the day. 

Really, it was just another day. In some ways. I spent two hours at the gym to work through being a bereaved mother on this 24-hour, live-it-up celebration (double the time I’m normally there). I arrived home to the smell of pancakes and the news that my husband blew out his ACL on Camelback Mountain. I washed the breakfast dishes, made dinner, and did a little writing. 

I’m relieved the day is over. At least for another 364 days. 

How do you feel about Mother’s Day? And, for that matter, Father’s Day, which is coming up next month?

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